Linda McRae Plays Sportsmen's Tavern May 31

           
            Linda McRae will return to Western New York for another fine performance with her Buffalo band, the Ragged Hearts, at 9 p.m. Friday, May 31, at the Sportsmen’s Tavern, 326 Amherst Street near Grant Street in Buffalo.

            McRae, first well-known for her time as bassist and vocalist with Spirit of the West, has become a seriously talent roots/Americana singer, songwriter and banjo player, and will feature songs from her most recent and fabulous CD, “Rough Edges and Ragged Hearts.” The Rugged Hearts are made up of Jim Whitford on standup bass and backing vocals, Mark Panfil on Dobro, accordion, harmonica and backing vocals; Doug Yeomans on guitar and backing vocals, and Randy Bolam on drums and backing vocals.

            McRae’s show is part of the Sportsmen’s Tavern’s Concert Series, and she calls the Sportsmen one of her “all-time favorite venues in the world.

            The CD, on 42 RPM, takes McRae’s rootsy sounds, from country, bluegrass, old-timey and rock, and blends them in the natural development of a talented musician catching her stride and taking her music to the next level. McRae, always an honest storyteller with little use for fantasy, has a thematic event she pulls from, her love and marriage to her husband, writer and poet James K. Whitmire. She sings of the ups, downs, laughter, sadness, confusion, hopes, dreams, nightmares, dread and simple everyday events that love and partnerships with people bring. She and Whitmire wrote several songs together on “Rough Edges and Ragged Hearts.”

            Several songs and passages on the new CD are powerful standouts, including “Higher Ground,” describes an alcoholic who knows he is dying talking to possibly the only person left who will listen to him, telling of his search for little more than a quiet, dignified place to die. “Hope It Lasts Through Supper,” mainly McRae’s voice and banjo, expresses the fun of two people actually liking each other’s company and being amazed something may come from it. The title song explains that people who’ve been through the romantic battles still feel love and need compassion, regardless the scars. “Deck of 52”features some mournful fiddle from Marc L’Esperance and nicely picked guitar from Stephen Nikleva as McRae sings of a lonely traveling Texas singer (dedicated to the late Townes Van Zandt).

 

            “Three Midnights,” a dark but eventually hopeful song co-written by McRae and Whitmire about “addiction, recovery and hope,” features the amazingly poignant couplet “I just bought a house with no windows/and it’s darker than three midnights in a jar.” (Whitmire has celebrated 25 years of sobriety.) The CD closes on a wonderful note,  “Be Your Own Light,” a somewhat rocking country gospel number on which McRae implores people to not be victims but to make their own joy and share it with others. The intro is twisted enough that you could hear Tom Waits joining in on it.

            42 RPM can be contacted at 3329 Lodmell Road, Victoria, British Columbia (BC), Canada V9C 3C1, or email at 42management@gmail.com, but you really should come to the show Friday and buy it from McRae and Whitmire in person.

It Isn't Feist, But the Music Still Sucks, OR Hall & Oates Shouldn't Have to Go For That (No Can Do)

Driving to run errands about a week ago, I was listening to WBNY 91.3 FM out of Buffalo State College when I heard a painfully bad, or at the very least uninspired, cover of the Hall & Oates classic "Private Eyes."

The wretchedness of the song, with the now way overdone, cliched affectless female lead vocal, apparently annoyed me enough to make me check for the song on YouTube. It turns out that the band is The Bird and the Bee, and this was one of what I would guess is too many songs off of "Interpreting the Masters Volume 1 - Hall  & Oates."

It's bad enough that this recording reminded me of the enormously overrated Feist, but I have now discovered that there is an entire CD of Hall & Oates covers by these two and, by the looks of the title, a threat to record more "tributes." I also noticed a certain indie pop pedigree of "The Bee," producer, keyboardist, etc., Greg Kurstin involving bands that are very least irritants (Beck may be the exception).

And yes, as you might imagine, I fall on the "you've got to be kidding me, where is the talent?" side of the Feist question, which each song of her's I hear causing one or more of my arm and hand hairs (forget my bald skull) to turn to grey or fall off altogether. Frankly, I am not sure that Apple Computers use of Feist's music in its advertising wasn't an even worse move than the company's calisthetics to avoid paying US taxes.

Also, I am a major Hall & Oates fan from the 1970s, and if I have the radio on in the car, absolutely crank any of their songs I hear. No, I do not consider enjoying Hall & Oates' music a guilty
pleasure, because there is nothing to be "guilty" or ashamed of; indeed, that is a topic for an upcoming post here.

Seeking the Freedom of Music on the West Side

A random event/encounter on Buffalo's West Side Saturday gave me encouragement and a sighting of the element of wonder, as well as some unneeded discouragement.

While I did my weekly shopping for several items at Price Rite that cost much less there than Wegmans or elsewhere (bananas, rolls, milk, cereal, applesauce), I had to go the aisle at the far end of the story, which offers bakery items, frozen foods and soda pop. A family of five, mom, dad and three kids, were shopping, with nothing standing out except some well-mannered behavior from the kids.

Suddenly, the oldest son, a Latino boy of about age 8-10, sees one of those displays with rails for corners and thinner wire on the sides to hold items in, most often used in toy and department stores to hold rubber balls. Instead of picking up and throwing any of the balls inside, he starts playing the wires like bass strings, immediately picking out a pretty decent, funky rhythm.

I stopped my rounds to watch and listen to this, both impressed and amused, when the boy discovered the different notes and started picking out a melody of sorts. I was amazed, and looked around, but saw no one but the family and me in the aisle. I was disappointed that no one else was present to witness this.

My listening was interrupted when the father went over to his son and said, "That's enough. How many times have I told you about doing this in stores?" First, you have talked to your son about playing bass this good on a store display before? Second, thanks, Mr. Killjoy; I hope you don't always show this lack of support of your son's and family's talents. Maybe you can't let him play on every display in every store, but a little bit of encouragement would be nice.

The Return of West Side Musical Notes

I used to have a blast when during our long walks, our beloved late dog, Walker Evans, and I witnessed some interesting musical activities on Buffalo's West Side. But last summer was spent getting over Val and my loss, and those posts (from a previous blog) ended for a while.

Fortunately, Harold and I have bee

n able to get out on some pretty serious travels around the West Side (Harold has a major walking motor), so it's time to start our musical walking blog observations again. Remember, Buffalo's West Side is an incredible melting pot of cultures brought here by rather recent immigrant populations, and has a very large Latino community.


About a week ago, Harold and I were walking on Chenango Street between Rhode Island and Massachusetts streets (just past a Buffalo Fire Department station) when we saw a man about age 25 with a guitar standing in front of three other same-age males sitting on a bench, with the middle guy holding a guitar and the other two guys intently watching. I could hear the first guitarist offer some instruction, including "after the first three, the fourth goes down here," and then he played what he was discussing, the full introduction to Heart's "Crazy on You."

Two days later, around the corner from that residence on Massachusetts Street, I could hear a full band rehearsing from an upstairs apartment/rehearsal space with a window open about halfway. It was loud without being overbearing, and as Harold and I closed in on the apartment, I recognized the song, Ozzy Osbourne's "No More Tears."

I didn't realize how popular hard rock and heavy metal still were on the West Side, and I hope to catch a wider variety of music there if/when the weather improves.